


Rough Night?

by Blank_Ideas



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blank_Ideas/pseuds/Blank_Ideas
Summary: Timothy is having a bad night, he takes the bus home.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Rough Night?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bongos_orangejuice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongos_orangejuice/gifts).



Saturday night was a bust.

Tim had known that right from the sour turning point that had wrecked his evening in a great wave of deep red tinted wine as it was thrusted in a slow moving wave away from his date’s delicate glass towards his fresh new shirt- which had quickly soaked in the half full cup’s worth of foul smelling fermented grapes.  
He stunk of alcohol and was chilled easily beneath the crisp wind that had been so quick to embrace him after he had hurriedly stepped out from the fancy restaurant he had been comfortably situated in not a half hour ago, but making things worse was the constant gaze of those who’d watched him storm out from the dinner, leaving the short tempered girl behind with both his and hers cheeks both flushed a deep red. His was the colour of shame.  
He doubted she felt the feeling, having so thoroughly humiliated him in front of strangers with judgemental eyes over the simple failure of bringing her the right anniversary present. He didn’t like her much anyway, he mused, sulking beneath the street lamps, she’d always been so frustrated and angry with him all the time- flying off the handle at the smallest things.  
Tim focused on that, her fierce expression and the way her acrylic nails had cut into the flesh of his arm when she gripped his forearm and commanded him to stay, a decision he chose to ignore regardless but still focused on as though that would muffle the glossy feeling of tears upon his cheeks as they leaked from his rich brown coloured eyes and stained hot tracks down his face and eventually tickled at his chin.  
Great, now he was thinking about them.

The night he’d stepped into was cold and dark and cruel. Initially he’d been hoping from the start of the dinner that he’d be able to hitch a ride home, but now with a good suit ruined and his own bitterness stewining into a steady froth of anger in his gut, he supposed turning back and asking for a lift home would be out of the question. Not that he would have done anyway, Tim was not inclined to grovel for an ass hole with a perfume problem if it meant avoiding the porous rain that now so adequately decided to cascade from the cloud fattened sky above. With this fresh rainfall that not only dampened the rest of his suit but his hair too, came a greater cold and harsher wind, something Tim found himself bristling against as he hunkered down within the closest bus station and sunk into his hopelessness, above grovelling but never self pity.  
He could be petty and mourn himself all he wanted, it was his Saturday night ruined after all.

His Saturday night after a long week of enduring slowly increasing ever more concerning and peculiar antics that had roped him into whatever dangerous bullshit Martin had rambled about that Jon fed into for some reason. Up to his neck in fire extinguishers, mismatching voice recorded statements and a poorly filed system, all week Tim had been gradually drained of his energy, sapped of his patience and had looked forward to a simple Saturday night with a pretty face and charming smile to ease the growing tension that rumbled within the back of his mind. But not. That had had to be crushed and so instead, Tim would sit in a dingy old bus stop and cry all of these strong disgusting feelings out as he waited for whatever number bus to pull up and take him somewhere hopefully a little bit closer to home, he did not need a long walk after all of this, no, Tim needed a nap.  
A long one preferably.

The bus showed up and Tim got on, taking a ticket to ‘god-knows-where-anywhere-but-here’.  
Thankfully the bus was a lot warmer than the cold metallic bench he had previously been perched upon and regardless of its inherent shitty seating he was very quickly lulled by the homey feeling that came with exhaustion and a slow moving bus filled with equally exhausted people. Nobody smiled, nobody looked up to him, everyone remained stiff and motionless as their tired eyes gazed out of the window and matched the sulky atmosphere of the city around them. Tim found this satisfactory enough as he pulled himself into a row just within the middle of the bus and slouched into the chair, releasing a softened sigh as his eyes began to droop closed and the world fizzled out into muted fuzz about him.  
And then the bus came to a stop.

This wasn’t unusual or unexpected ofcourse, public transport had a tendency of stopping for other people and taking them to where they needed to go regardless of Tim’s own intentions as other people tended to have their own machinations to fret over, which was none of Tim’s business. But, he did look up. A brief moment of curiosity holding far too much control over him as he gave in and glanced to the clearly frazzled figure who juggled clumsy fingers between a leather wallet and a particularly battered looking briefcase that Tim had more than often seen. It belonged to the man who held it, the man’s eyes wide behind the lenses of his glasses as his face held up that ever same, perpetual deer in a set of headlights sort of look, an expression that screeched his discomfort and anxiety as he strolled the length of the bus and located very few available seats. And then his eyes fell upon Tim. The slight crinkle of relief that teased his shoulders into relaxing was evident even if Jon hadn’t realised it himself as he made quick work towards Tim’s little haven of peaceful quiet.

“Would you- would you mind if I sat with you?” Jon’s voice was soft, tired too Tim quickly realised even if it bubbled with that constant anxious energy that peeved Tim slightly. How could a man, so confident and even arrogant at work become such an easy wreck over the concept of asking a bus conductor for a ticket? Whatever, he was being judgemental.  
Tim paused, welling up the nerve to be charismatic and normal but only half managing it.

“Depends Boss, no monsters or ghouls and god forbid tannins allowed. This is the chillout zone.” He smiled because smiling was easy to do when the person in front of you had no right to see you cry. Instead of moving forward and claiming the seat with his usual style of self importance, Jon looked at him for a moment, one pure simple moment that held not a single glimpse of leering commentary or snarky retorts, not an ounce of care that Tim looked so rough and damp in his sodden clothes and tear reddened eyes.  
There was warmth within Jon, Tim realised this as quickly as he recognised his tiredness, a tender concern that morphed into movement as Jon sat beside Tim and offered him his coat.

“Rough night?”


End file.
